


The unexpected (expect it)

by i_claudia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, Leather Kink, Lingerie, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Wanking Comment Fest, a tiny hint of bondage kink, surprise schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:44:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur doesn't mean to. Truly. How the hell is he supposed to know when not to barge into someone's flat? He does it all the time, it's not like Merlin's ever had anything to hide. </p><p>(The expanded version.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The unexpected (expect it)

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a pretty simple ficlet over at the [Wanking Comment Fest](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/23063.html) for the [prompt](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/23063.html?thread=537623#t537623) _Merlin, in women's lingerie... a crotchless leather corset, or something equally debauched. (Bonus points if Arthur is secretly watching and taking care of business himself)_ ... but then it sort of ballooned out of control, and now it's basically just 5k of shameless filth. Happy Easter?
> 
> (Original post [here](http://alby-mangroves.livejournal.com/23063.html?thread=537623#t537623); crossposted to LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/100067.html).)

Arthur doesn't mean to. Truly. How the hell is he supposed to know when not to barge into someone's flat? He does it all the time, it's not like Merlin's ever had anything to hide. Arthur has gone over at six in the morning on a fucking Sunday to make himself a proper breakfast, half-hoping he'll catch Merlin in the aftermath of some torrid one-night stand, but the most embarrassing thing he'd ever seen was Merlin, asleep and drooling on the couch in his boxers, his t-shirt rucked up to expose the warm skin of his back while the DVD menu for The Tudors played quietly on repeat.

Arthur notices things like that. Merlin's skin, that is, not The Tudors. The Tudors can go fuck themselves, as far as Arthur's concerned—or at least, they can when there's Merlin to look at. Merlin, softly rumpled in the morning, rubbing the sleep from his eyes; Merlin in the afternoon, kicking Arthur's ankles under the table and laughing; Merlin at night, in a bar, out drinking Arthur under the table on something that's never been a date, because Arthur's never quite dared to try to make it one. It's safer like this, just friends. It's safer to text Merlin about all the little nothings that happen in a day, or tease him during films, or arm wrestle over what to get for take-away. It's safer to drop by Merlin's flat unannounced, just in case Merlin's actually had someone over, because if Merlin ever does sleep with someone—if Merlin ever does, God forbid, date someone—Arthur is going to need all the advance notice he can get. 

Arthur is aware that this is not exactly healthy friendship behaviour. He's mostly made his peace with that.

He'd been quiet, when he came in, because it was getting on toward late and Merlin tended to go to sleep at an hour more suitable for small children and grandparents, but he'd needed the files he'd accidentally left in Merlin's flat. The plan had been to duck in, grab the papers from where he'd left them by the couch the day before, and leave without disturbing Merlin, unless Merlin was still awake, in which case Arthur could have persuaded himself to stay for a drink or a Dr Who episode or three. The plan had not included a sub-clause on what Arthur should do if Merlin was still awake and _not_ watching Dr Who. If Merlin was still awake and—well. _Jesus_.

The files hadn't been where he'd remembered leaving them, which was the only reason he'd ventured further into the flat than the kitchen. There's a line between _annoyingly entering Merlin's flat with the spare key_ and _being a creep_ , and Arthur likes to respect it, but without his files he's fucked for the presentation to the board in the morning, and...well..he'd figured it negated the creepiness factor if he had an actual reason to keep looking. 

He's pretty sure that this, now; this puts him way past the line from being your average garden-variety creep into full-blown arrestable behaviour, but it doesn't matter. He still can't move. It's like someone's attached a hundred lead weights to every joint, weighing him down. He's half-hidden in the dark hall just outside Merlin's open bedroom door, and he's stuck, barely breathing, watching Merlin—God—watching Merlin move inside. 

Merlin, who's wearing _leather_.

Merlin, who's _touching himself_.

He's never once imagined anything like this. Never once, not even in his most secret fantasies, has he ever considered that Merlin might do anything like this: that Merlin might cover his body with leather and lace and touch himself until he shook. But God, _God_ , now that he's seeing it, now that Merlin is laid out on a bed in front of him, he can't remember why he'd never thought of it before, because Merlin is beyond gorgeous like this. 

There's only one light on in the bedroom, dim, and the soft light lends a deeper richness to the red satin of the corset. It covers Merlin from his hips to his ribs, stopping just shy of his nipples, its edges wrapped in a wide black leather band. Arthur doesn't think it looks cinched too tightly, but it's tight enough that Merlin's waist is noticeably smaller, his breathing fast and shallow, and Arthur can't help but wonder if he could put his hands around Merlin's waist, if his fingers might touch. Merlin's skin is flushed across his shoulders and down to his chest, where his nipples are tight in the chilly air as he plays with them with one hand, tugging at them almost absently. Arthur stares at them, fascinated, until Merlin slides that hand down the front busk of the corset, drawing Arthur's eyes down to...to...

Merlin's touching his cock with his other hand, drawing his fingers slowly up and across the head where it strains against the delicate fabric of his panties, but Arthur barely notices, because fuck, _fuck_. Merlin has suspenders on, attached to the bottom of the corset, silky-black and narrow along his thighs as they run to lacy tops of the stockings Merlin's wearing. Arthur's own breath is coming shallower in his chest, and he presses his palm hard against the erection growing more insistent in his jeans. Merlin's wearing _stockings_ —intricately patterned lace stockings which look so dainty against Merlin's skin they cross into obscene. Arthur wonders if he's shaved; if, when he trimmed the neat thatch of pubic hair just peeking out from the top of his panties, he took the razor and ran it over his thighs, his calves, from ankle to groin.

He can't see if Merlin shaved, because the boots are in the way. Tall, pitch-dark boots that come up over Merlin's knees, polished bright and unbearably fucking sexy. The leather looks butter soft where it creases around Merlin's joints, runs smooth and tight all the way to his feet, so indecently fitted that Arthur wonders, giddily, if Merlin had them custom-made. Merlin shifts on the bed, tipping his head back further, letting his legs fall infinitesimally further apart, and Arthur bites his lips hard. The boots have heels—wicked, spiked ones—and he can't help but imagine Merlin walking in them, how restricted Merlin would be between the boots and the corset. How easy it would be to catch him, pin him down, bite him all along the narrow gap of exposed skin on his thighs. _Fuck_.

“Shit,” Merlin murmurs, and Arthur presses himself back harder against the wall just outside the doorway, his pulse jumping wildly in his throat. He knows he should leave, knows this might ruin everything between them, but...he can't. Not when Merlin's pushing aside his panties to roll his balls between his fingers, leaving most of his cock still covered by the fabric. There's rust freezing all of Arthur's joints and he can barely breathe, the air gone too thin around him; he presses his hand harder against his dick and chews at the inside of his cheeks to keep from making any sound. 

Merlin's breath is noisy, and the small sounds he's making in his throat are growing stronger, but the snick of Arthur's fly still sounds too loud, as if the whole street might hear it. Merlin doesn't twitch, though, just lets out a few gasping sighs and smooths one hand up and down between the bones of his corset as he rubs a thumb lightly over the exposed base of his cock. Shit, this is such a bad idea, but Arthur can't help it. There's a thundering fire running through him, prickling along his shoulders and pulling all his skin tight and cracked. His hand is too rough on his cock, too dry, but it's the only relief he has; he doesn't dare even raise his fingers to his mouth to get them wet. 

He doesn't look anywhere but Merlin, lets himself memorise the dark red of the corset against Merlin's skin, the way his cock stretches out the delicate fabric of his panties, which match—fuck—match the pattern of his stockings. He lets himself wonder how the puffy nub of Merlin's nipple would feel beneath his teeth and tongue; if, should he duck his head between Merlin's legs, he'd be able to smell the leather of Merlin's boots wrapped around the musky scent of his arousal. His fingers itch to feel the heat in Merlin's skin, to find all the places where Merlin's layers meet and then unwrap him, peel the boots off and then the stockings, following every inch revealed with greedy kisses. 

Or maybe he'd leave everything on and fuck Merlin, just like this—push Merlin's panties aside and take him, watch Merlin gasp for breath, the flush on his chest and spreading up his throat. Arthur'd like to leave a mark there, in the hollow of his collarbone, to match the colour of the corset. He's harder now, so fucking hard, and he knows he's close. The places where the corset digs into Merlin's hips are mesmerising. He wonders about the marks it must leave, the red stripes on Merlin's soft belly. His cock jerks in his hand as he imagines unlacing Merlin, discovering—or no, better still, lacing Merlin _in_ , pulling tight until Merlin sucks in a pretty gasp and puts a hand out to brace himself. Christ, he wants that, wants Merlin, wants to watch Merlin roll on his stockings and clip them into place, pulling each one up so agonizingly slowly that Arthur can't wait longer, presses him to the bed and slides right in, Merlin so good, so tight around his cock as the corset grows dark from sweat between them.

“Shit,” Merlin says again, and Arthur tries to focus despite the dizziness threatening him. Merlin's finally pushed his panties far enough aside that his dick is free, and he fists it once, twice, before letting go again to curl his fingers hard into his thighs between the suspenders. “Fuck.” His cock is long and dark with blood, obscenely hard, and Arthur wonders how long he's been like this, how long he's been lying here teasing himself just for the feeling of it. He doesn't know how Merlin does it—he's only been here a few minutes, and he's already on the brink.

Merlin brings his legs up, planting his feet on the bed close to his ass, and Arthur sucks in a silent gasp as Merlin reaches down to press his fingers against himself, slipping them down along the narrow fabric of the panties. Arthur moves his hand faster on his cock and imagines how it must feel: the eager twitch of muscle giving slowly to the pressure, the brush of the lace. He imagines Merlin's knees on either side of him, imagines the rub of the leather against his skin—imagines the scrape of Merlin's heels, if Merlin were to wrap a leg around him to pull him closer—and he comes, barely managing to catch his spunk between his shirt and his hand before it goes all over Merlin's floor.

He tries to choke back the noise orgasm jerks from his throat, but he's never been very quiet at sex, and when his vision stops swimming, Merlin's staring at him. 

Arthur stares back, mind blank. There isn't even a whisper of room for regret, because all he can feel—enormous, overwhelming—is guilt.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, and closes his eyes. “Fuck.”

“I'll,” Arthur says, awkward. He should probably put his dick away, but his hand is still sticky with come and he has no fucking idea what to do. “I'll just...”

“Stay?”

“Er.” Arthur blinks, but Merlin's eyes are open again and he's still looking at Arthur, and as Arthur stares back, he struggles to get an elbow beneath him to prop himself up. 

“Stay,” he repeats. He reaches with his free hand to adjust his bunched-up panties more carefully around his balls, and flicks a look up at Arthur as he spreads his legs just a little wider. “Please.”

Arthur's pretty sure he's died; there hasn't been oxygen going to his brain for too long, or something. “Fuck, _Merlin_ , what—”

Merlin, very slowly, flattens his hand and rubs it along his dick. “Been thinking about you.”

“Christ,” Arthur says, stumbling forward and hovering at the edge of the bed, still unsure, feeling silly. His cock, impossibly, is already twitching again. “Merlin—”

“You're not very subtle, you know,” Merlin says, lying back down. Arthur can't take his eyes away from Merlin's throat, watching him swallow. “I thought, one of these days, you'd have to walk in at the right time, maybe sweaty from a run, and there—there I'd be, waiting for you.”

His hips stutter up, a small movement, but it's enough for Arthur. He lets his knees give, kneels on the bed between Merlin's open legs, and crawls forward to kiss Merlin, hard and imperfect and exactly right. Merlin groans into his mouth and bites at his lips, fingers of one hand digging hard into Arthur's biceps, and Arthur lets himself touch, running his palms over the unforgiving fabric of Merlin's corset and hooking his fingers around the top of it, between the leather trim and Merlin's skin. Merlin's hot, physically burning, and he's gasping quietly into Arthur's kisses, struggling for breath as he works furiously at his cock. Arthur just kisses him more deeply, steals the air from him with greedy strokes of his tongue, and puts a hand down to help Merlin bring himself off. Merlin bucks up at the touch, and tears free of Arthur's kiss, tipping his face to the side and panting, eyes squeezed shut. 

“Oh, God,” he says, hooking one knee up around Arthur, and Arthur makes an embarrassing noise at that, at the feel of Merlin's boot on his skin. He twists his hips, rutting his half-hard cock against Merlin, right where Merlin's stocking ends, and jacks Merlin harder. “God,” Merlin says again, “Arthur. Just—yes, like—that, shit; harder, Jesus.”

“Yeah?” Arthur says, twisting one of Merlin's nipples between his fingers without breaking the rhythm he has on Merlin's cock. Merlin's left off even pretending to touch himself; he's writhing under Arthur, his fingers twisting hard into the sheets. “Like that?”

“Yes,” Merlin bites out. “Yes, you prick, like— _fuck_.” He draws the syllable out, long and broken as he shudders and jerks through his orgasm, and Arthur keeps touching him, doesn't take his hand away until Merlin winces, spent, and catches at his wrist. “Sensitive.”

“Sorry,” Arthur says, pulling away to ease himself down onto the bed next to Merlin. 

Merlin doesn't let go of his wrist, worms his fingers down until he can push them between Arthur's. “'S fine.”

Arthur puts his free hand out cautiously, laying it down on Merlin's waist and stroking his thumb along the fabric. “I'm sorry I...you know, watched. Without telling you.”

“You're a pervert,” Merlin says, but his voice is warm, husky. “You know what we do to perverts here?”

Arthur bites at the corner of his mouth when Merlin smiles. “Forgive them?” he asks, hopeful.

“Mmm, nope,” Merlin says. “The usual punishment is eye-stabbing and castration.”

Arthur stares at him, torn between horror and disbelief, until Merlin starts sniggering and rolls over, pushing at Arthur until he can clamber on top of them. “I'll make a special exception, for you,” Merlin tells him, wiggling as much as he can with the corset. “Help me out of this, and I'll exact my revenge in sexual favours instead.”

“Sexual favours?” Arthur says, feeling his heart begin to beat again. He puts his hands on either side of Merlin's waist. They don't nearly reach around, but he wonders if they could, one day. “What sort of favours?”

“I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise,” Merlin says gravely, and kisses him. 

Merlin kisses like he has a mission, like Arthur's holding state secrets behind his teeth in the far slick corners of his mouth, and Arthur thinks for a delirious moment that it's a good thing he doesn't because he'd give every last scrap of information up to Merlin without a moment's hesitation. When it comes to Merlin, he's helpless.

“Come on,” Merlin says, breaking the kiss but not moving away, so that his lips still brush Arthur's. “I meant it; help me out of this thing.”

They fumble around, getting in each other's way, until Merlin makes an impatient noise and gets out of bed entirely, turning to face away from Arthur. “Unlace me.”

The laces of the corset are bewildering, and Arthur squints at them, picking hesitantly at the knots until he starts to feel them give. Merlin reaches back to help him, showing him how to loosen them correctly before he unhooks the busk in front and breathes deeply, hanging the corset over a chair. “Better,” he says with a grin, turning back to Arthur and bending over to unhook the suspenders from his stockings. He stops in front of Arthur, between Arthur's knees, and puts a finger under Arthur's chin, tipping his face up to steal a kiss. Arthur gives it to him easily, reaching out to put his hands back on Merlin's skin, his fingers seeking out the divots and ridges left by the corset before they vanish.

“I want,” Merlin murmurs, pressing forward until he has Arthur laid out on the bed, kneeling over him and sneaking his hands under Arthur's shirt, inching it upward; “I want to put my dick in your mouth, and then I want you to fuck me. Okay?”

“Holy shit,” Arthur says without thinking, and then, hurriedly, in case Merlin changes his mind, “yes, fuck, _yes_. Are you serious?”

“I'm always serious,” says Merlin, cheerfully pulling Arthur's shirt over his head and leaving it tangled around his elbows.

“You are not,” Arthur starts, but before he can elaborate, Merlin's dick is in his face. 

Merlin's barely half-hard, but Arthur doesn't care. He wants to wrap his lips around it, close his hands hard around Merlin's hips and tug him forward until it hits the back of his throat; he wants to breathe deep to see if he can smell the boots that Merlin's still wearing. The angle is weird, and he struggles a little bit, but Merlin's got him pinned but good, his arms trapped in his shirt above his head. The thought sends a shivery thrill through him, a little zing to light up his nerve endings, and he cranes his neck up to lick at Merlin's cock, barely noticing when Merlin slides a pillow under his head to help him. Merlin tastes like skin, and come, and Arthur catches the barest whiff of leather, and he presses his lips to the underside of Merlin's dick in a sloppy kiss, rubbing his mouth along it just to enjoy the sensation.

“Tease,” Merlin says, laying a hand along Arthur's cheek. His voice is already a little rough, Arthur thinks, and feels a little smug. 

“Patience is a virtue,” Arthur says, prim, but he opens his mouth, lets Merlin ease his cock in slow between his lips. Fuck, it's good. On the whole, Arthur can take or leave a blowjob, but Merlin's something different; Merlin might change his mind about the whole thing. He makes tiny movements while Arthur sucks, gentle thrusts with one encouraging hand still pressed against Arthur's cheek. Arthur breathes through his nose and ignores the spit gathering to spill from the corners of his mouth, and works harder, taking Merlin in as far as he can while Merlin grows harder, swearing quietly under his breath.

“Fuck, your mouth,” Merlin says. “Feels so good, Arthur; thought of this. Thought of how you'd taste, after—taste like me. Thought about your lips, God, thought about them a lot. Too much.” He's moving faster now, pushing in a little deeper, and Arthur clenches his fists in the shirt wrapped around his hands, pulling hard just for something to hold on to, opening his throat as far as he can for Merlin. “Thought about you all the fucking time,” Merlin whispers. “Couldn't stop, couldn't fucking stop; wanted you too bad and you were always _around_ , always showing up and staring and never doing a fucking thing about it, Arthur, what the fuck was that about?” 

Arthur wouldn't have been able to answer even if his mouth hadn't been full of Merlin's cock, so he works his tongue over the head of it in apology when Merlin pulls back a little. Merlin hisses through his teeth and pushes forward again, moving the hand on Arthur's cheek to his hair. He doesn't pull, doesn't try for anything that makes Arthur nervous, just wraps his fingers in the strands and holds on while he fucks Arthur with long, steady strokes. Arthur closes his eyes and sucks and twists his hands harder in his shirt, his hips rocking up against nothing, and it feels like he's fucking flying, like Merlin's touch negates gravity itself.

He takes Merlin in as deeply as he can, until he can feel Merlin in the back of his throat and knows his face must be red—until he's dizzy with the zen of sucking Merlin's cock—and Merlin pulls out. 

“Fuck, I won't last if you do that,” Merlin says, sounding wobbly, and Arthur grins.

“I could do something else instead,” he offers, working his wrists free of his shirt, and when Merlin gives him a baffled sort of look he puts his hands on Merlin's thighs, urging him to shuffle forward on his knees. “Yeah, just there, perfect.”

“What—” Merlin begins, and cuts himself off. “Oh, God. Oh _shit_ , really?”

Arthur spreads Merlin's cheeks further, hooking the panties out of his way with a finger, and presses a kiss into Merlin's crease in answer, letting it turn into a long lick, jamming his tongue hard against Merlin's hole.

“Fuck,” Merlin says above him, somewhat wildly, and Arthur licks him again, pushing in a little more, not bothering to stop between licks, just forcing his tongue as deeply into Merlin as he can. He worms his fingers around the tops of Merlin's boots and holds him there, distracted by the shivers he can feel as Merlin swears and works his hips, shoving back and down for more. 

The first finger makes Merlin curse; the second makes him yowl. Neither of them are even pretending to be in control any more: Merlin's fucking himself down onto Arthur's fingers with abandon, and Arthur has a hand on his own cock, desperately squeezing through his jeans to keep himself from coming.

“Merlin,” he says, and fuck, his voice is wrecked. “Merlin, I'm gonna—”

“Yeah,” says Merlin, stilling himself with effort and reaching over Arthur's head for something. “Just—give me a minute, hold on—”

“I _am_ holding,” Arthur says, and Merlin laughs, rolling off of Arthur and shimmying out of his panties before reaching for something off the bed. 

“That was awful,” he tells Arthur, turning back around, and rolls a condom onto Arthur's cock almost before Arthur realises he has one out. “I think that means it's your turn to do the work.” 

Arthur swallows, and takes the lube Merlin hands him, desperately trying to hold onto the threads of his composure while he unzips and kicks his jeans off. At this rate he isn't even going to get his dick in Merlin; he's going to come just thinking about it. Merlin's no fucking help, either, getting his feet out from under him to lie back, his knees up and his boots just as fucking sexy as ever. Fuck, how is Arthur supposed to deal with something like that, with Merlin just reaching around to open himself up, his thighs spread wide and his heels practically in the air?

He tries to open Merlin up a little more, his fingers coated in lube, but Merlin moves impatiently and says, “ _More_ ,” and that's about as much as Arthur is capable of handling. He slicks himself up haphazardly; Merlin wraps a hand around the back of his neck and yanks him forward until he has to catch himself on his palms or risk collapsing entirely onto Merlin. “Arthur, come on, just fucking— _fuck_.”

Arthur holds himself together as he sinks in, but only barely, because Christ, the pressure of Merlin around him, squeezing him to the hilt, tight and hot and exactly, _exactly_ what Arthur's always wanted—fuck, no one could last long like that. Merlin's gasping in his ear, his nails digging into Arthur's nape, and Arthur's trying to at least pretend to start slow, but Merlin wraps both legs over Arthur's back and kisses him, deep and messy and filthy.

“Jesus,” Arthur says, muffled by the kiss at first, dizzy from the greediness of it. His heart's slamming in his ears, his hands slipping a little on the sheets. Merlin's skin is slick against his from the sweat between them. “Feel so good, Merlin. Just—”

“Harder,” Merlin rasps, and Arthur's hips jerk forward without any input from his brain. “Come on, Arthur, show me—shit, shit—show me all those fucking reps at the gym are worth something.” 

The only response to something like that, obviously, is for Arthur to shut Merlin up entirely with his mouth, so he does, both of them gasping into it while the mattress squeaks and Merlin rakes his short nails over Arthur's back without regard to the ragged edges catching on Arthur's skin. He digs them in deep with a groan when Arthur shifts the angle, and Arthur bites down on his lip in retaliation, winding his fingers tight into Merlin's hair and holding him in place while he nips his way down around Merlin's jaw to his throat, fucking Merlin hard and fast until Merlin has to throw a hand against the wall to keep his head from banging into it. Merlin's running his mouth again, keeping a breathless, uneven stream of wild commentary going directly in Arthur's ear until Arthur stutters out of his rhythm and readjusts, leaning back a little on his knees and getting his hands on Merlin's thighs. 

He can spread Merlin's legs out like this, with a little more space between their bodies; he can pin Merlin's knees practically to his shoulders and just fucking _go_ at him, slamming in while Merlin writhes and wails beneath him, lifting his hips up to meet Arthur just as eagerly. 

“Fucking—menace—” Arthur manages, and Merlin actually _whines_ , his lower lip caught between his teeth. They're starting to lose whatever steady momentum they might have built up at the beginning to reckless abandon, one of Merlin's legs wrapped tight around Arthur's arse and his other knee slung up over Arthur's shoulder, and Arthur dimly realises that Merlin's hips aren't even on the bed anymore, Christ—his weight is on his shoulders, both hands above his head now, braced against the wall—and still he's rocking into every thrust, every angle and tendon screaming out for more, for everything Arthur has or cares to give him. It's almost too much. Arthur turns his face into Merlin's leg, presses his nose into the boot before digging his teeth in, pressing his lips and tongue against the warm leather, and that—that—

That _is_ too much, and Arthur bites down hard against the orgasm which slams through him, leaving him slumped and breathless, panting against the wet spot he's left on Merlin's boot. He starts to slide down, to slide out so he can finish Merlin off, but Merlin tightens both his legs around Arthur, reaching up to dig his fingers into Arthur's shoulders, and _snarls_. 

“Don't you fucking dare,” Merlin says, arching his back again and clenching tight around Arthur's softening cock, ignoring Arthur's hissed breath. “Not 'til—'til...” He trails off, moving a hand to strip at his cock, almost a blur, and Arthur gets it. He goes down on his elbows, crowding close to Merlin. 

“So do it,” he says, reaching down to get his own hand on Merlin's dick before he sucks a kiss into the hollow of Merlin's throat, runs his teeth along the edge of Merlin's collarbone. He rocks his hips carefully—not much, just enough for Merlin to feel his weight pressing down. He can feel Merlin spasming around him, can see Merlin's knuckles go white where he's gripping at the sheets; he knows Merlin's close. “Come for me, you've been fucking begging for this,” Arthur murmurs, biting down again on Merlin's skin, tasting the sweat and salt. “Wearing all your fancy clothes, hoping I'd walk in and see—see you all dressed up like a pretty boy.” He wants to leave a mark, shit; wants to leave traces of himself all over Merlin. Merlin moans, his breath hitching into a higher register, and Arthur speeds up his hand, where they're jerking Merlin off together. “Such a pretty fucking boy, Merlin, fuck, love your boots and your fucking _panties_ —”

Arthur wants to remember the noise Merlin makes when he comes forever, play it back for himself whenever he's by himself, because he could probably get off just on that alone. Merlin's whole body pulls tight, trembling, and his come goes everywhere, smeared between their bellies, and Arthur's spank-bank is basically filled for life, just off of this. He slips out of Merlin while Merlin's still quivering to slump beside him, pulling off the condom and luxuriating in how filthy he feels, how little he cares about the mess. He's covered in _Merlin's come_. His fingers smell like Merlin; he can still taste Merlin in the back of his mouth if he concentrates. He is absolutely going to savour this moment.

Merlin seems to have similar ideas; he pushes his face into Arthur's shoulder—almost his armpit, but Arthur isn't complaining, he doesn't have to smell it—and throws an arm around Arthur's waist, mumbling something against Arthur's skin. He's still wearing his boots, but if they don't bother him, Arthur doesn't care.

“What was that?” Arthur asks, twisting his elbow around Merlin's head so he can thread his fingers through Merlin's hair.

Merlin gives a contented sigh. “Gonna feel that one in the morning,” he says sleepily, tilting his head to one side so he can speak more clearly. “Think I'll keep you around.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, as sparks fizzle out from his belly, settling into a warm glow. “Good.”

“'Course it's good,” Merlin says, and falls asleep with his mouth open. Arthur watches him for a minute, trying and failing to bite back an embarrassingly goofy smile, before pressing his nose to the top of Merlin's head and closing his eyes.


End file.
